Ali was well aware that without the information contained in the High Noon background check, Brenda wouldn’t have known the man’s real name, to say nothing of the names of his former employers. If Brenda was writing a book about her experience with him as well as that of “other women” in his life, there was a chance that B.’s company might well be pulled into some kind of unsavory drama. On the other hand, doing background checks was part of High Noon’s bread-and-butter business.
In the end, Ali simply forwarded Brenda’s request to B. with a subject line that said, “What do you think?”
The last e-mail she opened was one from B., written to her during a lunch break at his conference in D.C. Ali scanned it quickly and then marked it unread because by then it was past time to be dressed and ready for tea.
Sister Anselm was already seated by the gas log fireplace when Ali entered the library a few minutes later. A driver from the Phoenix archdiocese had dropped her off for tea on the condition that Leland Brooks agree to take her the rest of the way back to Jerome once the visit was over.
They passed a pleasant hour together in front of the fire, sipping English breakfast tea, nibbling on Leland Brook’s tiny egg salad and cucumber sandwiches, and downing still-warm scones slathered with clotted cream.
In the course of their conversation, Ali mentioned her dying friend’s request that Ali come visit her. “You’re the one with the Angel of Death moniker,” Ali said to Sister Anselm. “I know you deal with ill and dying people all the time, but how do you handle it? How do you know what to do or say? I know Velma has a son. Why is she asking for me to be there instead of him?”
Sister Anselm’s blue eyes sparkled cheerfully behind her gold-framed glasses as she answered Ali’s question.
“You don’t know that,” Sister Anselm said. “The son may very well be at her side when the time comes. When someone in a family is dead or dying, it’s been my experience that one of two things may happen. Occasionally, long-standing quarrels and fissures in families are suddenly and inexplicably healed. In other families, relationships that may have seemed untroubled in the past sometimes splinter completely due to some invisible fracture that has long lain hidden beneath an otherwise placid surface. When I’m summoned in this fashion, I always set off on the journey trusting that I’ve been called there for a reason and that I’ll be able to offer comfort to those in need.”
“But going there at a time like this feels like an intrusion somehow,” Ali objected.
“The nephew indicated that your friend wants you there, right?”
Ali nodded. “She specifically requested that I come. I told the nephew that I’d fly over to California either tomorrow or the next day.”
“Go as soon as you can,” Sister Anselm advised. “A lot of the time, loved ones are in denial and think they have more time than they actually have. Whenever you go, Ali, do so in the knowledge that what you’re doing places you in your perfect place to do the perfect thing, whatever that may be.”
Ali smiled at her friend. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Sister Anselm said forcefully. “I certainly do.”
When Leland left to take Sister Anselm home, Ali retreated to her bedroom once more.
An instant message from B. told her he was off to a conference banquet and wouldn’t be available until much later. He also told her he had alerted Stuart Ramey about Brenda’s request for a background check and that Stuart would be working on the problem.
Ali knew that her parents were due to be back home on Saturday afternoon and that they would be on duty at the Sugarloaf bright and early on Sunday morning. With that in mind, Ali made arrangements to fly out of Phoenix to LAX Saturday night. After her conversation with Sister Anselm, leaving sooner rather than later seemed like the right thing to do.
Once all the travel arrangements were in hand, Ali tried calling B. His phone was still off, so she sent him an e-mail bringing him up to date on Velma Trimble’s situation as well as her travel plans. After that, Ali took to her bed in the company of the Count of Monte Cristo. Within minutes, the book was facedown on Ali’s bed covers, and she was sound asleep.
15
Scotts Flat Reservoir, California
Brenda Riley awakened confused and frightened in a terrible moving darkness. Somewhere nearby her cell phone was ringing, but she couldn’t reach it, couldn’t answer. Her hands were bound behind her. Her feet were bound too. There was a strip of something fastened to her face, and she was desperately cold.
She realized she had to be in the trunk-the large trunk-of a moving vehicle. She could hear the rush and scrape of pavement under the tires, but she had no idea where she was, where she was going, or how she came to be there.
Her memory was fuzzy. Foggy. She vaguely remembered being at home in the morning. After that she had gone to her meeting, her usual Friday noon meeting. And then she was supposed to meet someone for lunch, but right that minute, Brenda couldn’t recall the woman’s name. She had no idea of what had happened to her or how much time had elapsed. What she did know for sure was that she needed to pee desperately.
Brenda tried moving her legs and managed to make a few feeble thumps with her feet. It didn’t do any good. The car kept on moving and her sudden movement, compounded by the cold, made her need to urinate that much more critical. If the person driving the vehicle heard the racket from the trunk, it made no difference, at least not at first, but then the car seemed to hesitate. It turned off the pavement onto a rough gravel track of some kind.
As the vehicle came to a stop, Brenda’s heart filled with dread. Moments later, the engine died. With a thump, the trunk release was engaged and the lid opened automatically. For a moment she was astonished by how bright the night sky was overhead. After the impenetrable darkness, the stars above were more brilliant than she had ever seen.
She heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel. A moment later a woman’s face appeared in the starlit night. In that moment of clarity, Brenda recognized her. Mina Blaylock, the mystery woman on Richard’s list.
Brenda struggled against her bonds, tried to say something. “Please, let me out. I need to use the bathroom.”
For an answer, Mina reached inside. Brenda saw the hypodermic in her hand. She tried to dodge out of the way, but she couldn’t. The needle plunged deep into the muscle of her upper arm. That was one of the reasons Brenda was so cold. Her arms were bare. Where was her coat? Where was her blouse? Brenda tried to struggle, but she couldn’t escape the woman’s fierce gloved grip. At last Brenda lay still.
“Good,” Mina said. “That’s better.”
She reached inside the trunk again. As Brenda watched, Mina took Brenda’s purse out of the trunk. With the purse gone, so was Brenda’s cell phone and so was any hope of summoning help. Next Mina wrenched off Brenda’s shoes.
“Where you’re going, you won’t be needing your purse anymore, and you won’t need shoes either.”
Dimly, Brenda heard a sound from somewhere nearby. Mina heard it too. She looked over her shoulder, then slammed the trunk lid shut. There were more footsteps, hurried ones this time, then the engine turned over, and the car moved. As darkness enveloped her again, Brenda realized that her prison was now lit with an eerie reddish glow leaking into the trunk from the taillights outside the car. She wondered how much time had passed, enough to turn day into night.
Brenda considered briefly about the kind of substance that had been in the hypodermic. Moments later, however, she felt her heartbeat speed up. For a time she had difficulty catching her breath. Then, gradually, the drug overwhelmed her and she drifted into unconsciousness once again, unaware and unembarrassed that when she lost control of her mind, she also lost control of her bladder.
